


Not a Superhero

by AmeliaFriend



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Poe Party Secret Santa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaFriend/pseuds/AmeliaFriend
Summary: Prompt: Cute Wellenore and/or AnnaPoe modern au fluff, or time travelling Wellenore. Just all the Fluff!For Valentine-Lang on tumblr.HG is awkward, Lenore is always right, Edgar is a Disney princess, and Annabel is terrifying and amazing (but we knew that already).Or the modern / bookstore / superpowers AU that almost definitely isn’t what the prompt asked for, but I wrote anyway.





	Not a Superhero

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa 2017 gift for Valentine-Lang on tumblr. If she has a AO3 account, let me know, and I'll gift this fic to her!

HG Wells is not a superhero.

He could be, that’s what he’s been told his entire life, but he isn’t.

He got his telekinesis (a fairly common power, but quite high level anyway) around age ten (early, but not abnormally so), and when combined with his (by most people’s standard; very high, but not supernaturally gifted) intelligence – he’d make a great superhero.

But he’s shy and awkward, almost painfully so, and he’d much prefer spending time with his books and his inventions than all that running and saving and interacting with strangers.

HG Wells is not a superhero, but he likes it that way.

* * *

 

The bookstore is not new. The paint is peeling, and the door creaks, and there’s a hundred things that need fixing.

The bookstore is new to HG.

He’s just moved, and managed to get lost on his way home, and stumbled across the old building entirely by accident.

It’s late and it’s raining and he really, really wants to be home – so he doesn’t go inside, but he does make a note of the name, and a mental promise to return when he has time.

 

When he has time, turns out to be not the next Saturday, but the one after – a sunny morning heralding the start of the warmth of spring. It’s the perfect morning to spend in a bookshop.

And that’s how he ends up outside “The Raven” once again, peeling paint and creaking door and all.

It’s cooler inside than he would have expected given the heat, and there’s not the usual cloud of dust he normally associates with shops like this, but it’s nowhere near sterile. The light filters gently through the slightly clouded windows, and the smell is the classic mix of books old and new, and he’s never been here before, but somehow, he feels as though he has come home.

There’s a red-headed woman behind the desk with a smile like the sun, and he turns down her offer to help him find what he’s looking for, in preference to simply spend some time (as much time as he can) simply browsing through the books.

There’s a lot of books.

Three floors, floor to ceiling shelving, and the store goes deeper than he would have expected from the outside. There’s the usual new fiction craze near the front door, with crisp covers and handwritten notes of recommendation on most of them; there’s the children’s section that holds no interest for him, but is bright and colourful and soft and if he was still ten he would have loved to spend an hour and his parent’s money there. There’s the cooking; and the crime; and the biographies; and the histories; and the travel guides.

There’s a lot of books.

He could wander for hours – days – and still be surprised every time he turned a corner.

He keeps going to the back – the books get older and more interesting the more he looks; and he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for, but the small basket he had picked up at some point gains a friend in a book, then two and three and four, and they just keep getting better.

He even found the shelf of _his_ books – written under a pseudonym of course. He had steered clear of that shelf as soon as he realised.

 

There was a steady stream of customers – he can hear the bell above the door semi-regularly, and the red-headed woman at the desk greets them all just as cheerfully (and sincerely, he really believes) as she greeted him – but they all seem to be searching for something in particular, or if they don’t browse, they don’t end up as deep in the maze as he has ended up, and he looks up from his current book (he meant to glance through the first few pages, and is now at least twenty five pages deep, and it’s definitely going in his basket to come home with him), as he realises he hasn’t actually _seen_ another person for almost twenty minutes.

 

And of course, that is exactly the moment he (actually literally) walks straight into the woman in the white dress, and manages to send both their (not exactly small) piles of books flying into the air.

* * *

 

Lenore Poe is not a superhero.

She had considered it once, as a child – the way she considered being a ballerina or a chef or a fashion designer.

She considers it sometimes as an adult – anything to pass the boredom of working in her brother’s bookstore.

Her powers don’t really lend themselves to “superhero-ing” though.

She got her powers at thirteen – materialisation (Edgar called her a 3-d printer once. She made sure he never said it again). They’re pretty useful in her day to day life – she’s never more than a thought away from that specific book a customer wants, or that little thing she’s misplaced but really needs _right now_ , or (her favourite) more than ten seconds away from the perfect glass of anything she wants (so useful when Edgar is going through one of his “hermit” phases – although considering his “hermit” phases last at least three times longer than his “normal human being” phases, should she consider them the other way around? She doesn’t actually care).

For something that can fit in her hand, she can do it a hundred or two hundred times a day with basically no effort required. For something about the size of the average person it takes more concentration and more time, and requires real non-materialised food waiting for her when she finishes. In an emergency, she can create something as large as a car (but she will need to sleep for like a week afterwards, and it better be a real emergency).

So yeah – not the most useful superhero-ing gift in the long run.

She tried to materialise a house when she was seventeen. She doesn’t really know why. She was seventeen and showing off and teenagers think a lot of things are a good idea when they really aren’t. She gets about three rooms in, and then she wakes up four days later in the hospital. She hasn’t tried again since.

But the alcohol is unlimited and free-flowing, she hasn’t paid for her (perfect in every way) clothes since she was sixteen and she has pretty much everything she could want (except a job that doesn’t make her want to claw her eyeballs out).

Lenore Poe is not a superhero, but her life’s still pretty great.

* * *

 

And then all the books freeze in mid-air, before a quick twitch of HG’s hand sends them flying back to their original owner.

He’s trying to stammer out a coherent apology, and she looks more amused (and kind of impressed) than anything else, and that’s about the time he realises she’s wearing a name tag, and she obviously works here.

Lenore.

It’s a pretty name.

“I’m HG,” he finally manages to say without embarrassing himself too much.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she tells him, and he’s confused for a moment (It’s not the usual response to that statement, and he spends more time than he should considering normal and usual responses to common sentences and statements). “Only staff back here.”

And that probably explains why there weren’t any other customers nearby, and he can feel his face turning burnt tomato – which she finds almost adorable more than anything else.

Except there’s no time for him to apologise, because she simply goes on to say – “I’ll take you back,” she offers – except it’s not really an offer – he’s not supposed to be there. “You find everything you were searching for?” She asks, already leading the way back to the actual part of the shop customers were meant to be in.

“And then some,” he replies, completely truthfully, following right next to her.

 

“This is Annabel,” Lenore introduces, once the pair get back to the front desk and HG can see actual sunlight once more, and realises he spent almost two and a half hours among the book stacks. “She is like literal human sunshine.” There’s an underlying something, and Annabel gives a sharp look (or what is intended to be a sharp look – she’s _Annabel_ , she’s much too good for something like that.), and HG is definitely missing part of the story, but he knows better than to actually ask (he knows better _now_ , that was a social lesson he learnt the hard way).

Annabel is quick at her job, and the books are run through in seconds (and placed into a paper bag with – what else – a raven printed on the front). Lenore hands his receipt over, and then he leaves; a cheerful ‘goodbye’ from the two working in the shop, and a still awkward smile, and half a head nod from HG in return.

 

“I saw you write your number on the receipt,” Annabel remarks, once the door has completely shut and HG is at least halfway down the street.

Lenore’s response is nothing more than a raised eyebrow, before she disappears back into the book stacks once again, leaving Annabel to greet the next customer through the door.

 

He texts her that afternoon.

How he managed to make a text sound awkward and unsure and exactly how he spoke, is beyond her, and she gets the feeling that he thinks it’s probably a joke, and it would actually be a pretty cute moment, except…

Except that’s when Edgar (and his usual army – only half joking – of birds and random mammals) decided to make an appearance.

* * *

 

Edgar Allan Poe is not a superhero.

Not that that would be a surprise to anyone – Edgar Allan Poe is practically infamous for hating people (excluding a select few. Read: Annabel Lee – and Lenore when she forces her way into his office because “it’s been two weeks Edgar, you need to leave this room. Shower, eat, interact with humans for a change and maybe even see the sun. It won’t kill you. I might though.” He pretends not to hear the last bit, she probably doesn’t mean it.), and that’s not exactly a great trait for a superhero.

He has his books, and he has his birds (and the various other animals who trail in now and again, but he prefers the birds. The ravens hold a special significance for him), and he has Lenore (even if he wished she would be a little bit … less … at times) and Annabel (she’s his friend – if you don’t include his sister – basically his only friend, and she’s wonderful and amazing and everything and _sunshine_ , and it’s not exactly a secret that he wants to be more than that, but as long as he doesn’t lose her, he doesn’t care what they are).

He sees the way people (society, Lenore, _Annabel_ ) look at the superhero – those chosen few elite who are obviously so much better than everyone else, and for a moment he wants to be one (even if he hates – most – people, even if his powers really aren’t suited to helping, well, anyone _human_ ) even if just so she looks at him the way she looks at the superheroes.

Not that talking to animals (zoolingualism, a teacher had referred to it, once upon a time when he was twelve and confused why animals would follow into school, and why he had birds literally sitting on him and around him no matter what he did, and why the outdoors had suddenly got so much … chattier, and why the other children couldn’t understand him when he spoke – although that last one might have just been adolescent bullying, because other people didn’t have a problem understanding him, even in the middle of a conversation with one of his birds or random creature that wandered into his life) is that great of a superhero power. He can’t make them _do anything_ , they just exist and chatter and annoy him, and despite it all, he still wishes he could be a superhero (for Annabel).

But he can’t and she won’t look at him like she looks at them (at least – not for superhero-ing), so he leaves daydreams behind for children, and goes back to his writing. He’s only been locked in his study for less than a day, he’s got time to finish this next piece before Lenore comes to break his door down herself and drag him (sometimes actually physically) to the kitchen, or sends Annabel to knock gently and accomplish the exact same thing.

Edgar Allan Poe is not a superhero, but sometimes he wishes he could be.

* * *

 

Everything shifts about three weeks after their first meeting.

HG has fallen into the habit of visiting the store almost every day on his way home from work, and most days on his way to work as well.

Sometimes it’s just Lenore in the front, and sometimes it’s just Annabel. Sometimes it’s Edgar, on his own, usually in the middle of a conversation with a bird, of which HG can only just understand the human half of the conversation (Edgar is very weird. This is not a recent occurrence).

 

But they’re becoming friends – like actual proper friends that HG doesn’t have many (read: any) of. And he likes it. He likes having friends. It’s nice.

It’s nice when Lenore is bickering with Edgar over the shop, or the animals, or his fashion sense, or his life, or his (very obvious) infatuation with Annabel. It’s nice when Edgar deigns to join them, or sends some random rodent downstairs with a note attached to its neck and Lenore screams before she realises it’s an ‘Edgar Animal’, or when Edgar is dragged out of his office by a sudden angry Lenore. It’s nice when Annabel does, basically anything really, Annabel is just about perfect in everyone’s eyes. She made cookies one time. Those were very nice.

It’s nice when they treat him like a friend, as well.

 

Sometimes he buys something, sometimes he buys lots of things, sometimes he doesn’t buy anything – just stays there for hours until the sun has long set and they need to lock up, and he needs to go home.

 

It’s nice having friends, but he’s still not very good at it.

(He’s trying)

 

So – it’s a Sunday, just over three weeks after the first time HG met Lenore and Annabel (just under three weeks since HG met Edgar and was almost attacked by an owl who wanted his goggles. That’s another story. Actually, wait – that’s the entire story. Lenore thought it was funny. Annabel fussed a little. Edgar disappeared … somewhere), when the screaming comes from outside.

 

It’s not uncommon – the screaming. They live in a society where 99% of the population, and like 5% of them decide their life purpose is to become a superhero.

They have their fair share of supervillains as well.

 

This guy has ice powers – pretty classic supervillain stuff. Does the power decide the villain-y? Or were they going to become villainous anyway and the powers only helped? (The middle of an attack is probably not the place for such musings, HG)

 

They’re probably safe inside, and the superheroes will be along in like two minutes to deal with this guy – so they move further away from the window, closer towards the book stacks, but it’s not like they’re in any _real_ danger.

 

That would be the moment a stray icicle punches a fist-sized hole in the large store window – and the pointed (like, literally like a spear tip, this is a really sharp icicle. How did this dude do that? Natural icicles are pretty blunt – it’s fairly difficult to murder, or even assault, someone with a regular natural icicle. Really not the time, HG) end came flying towards HG’s head.

* * *

 

Annabel Lee is not a superhero.

She wanted to be when she was a child, she had the _heart_ for it (like that was the most important thing), but when her powers didn’t kick in at ten or eleven or twelve, she moved onto other ideas of what her future would look like.

When her powers didn’t kick in at thirteen or fourteen, she didn’t really notice. When they hadn’t come by fifteen, she knew her parents were getting concerned, but she didn’t mind too much – there were other kids in her year that didn’t have theirs either.

Her powers came at sixteen. She was the last in her year. She wished they had never come.

It really had been an accident. There was an exam, and she was stressed (it was an important exam), and she doesn’t really know what happened between then and the alarms and the screaming and the running. It really had been an accident.

She had always been known as “sweet” and “nice”, but now (after having to move to a new school, where all questions of her powers were shrugged off with a “they’re not that interesting” and a change of subject, and everyone just goes with it, except for one Lenore Poe in her new class and her – a little / a lot – weird brother in the year above) she was the “sweetest”, the “nicest”, the “embodiment of happiness and flowers”, and the “literal human incarnation of sunshine”.

If only they knew how true that last one was.

Annabel Lee is not a superhero, but she would have made an amazing supervillain.

* * *

 

And then the ice is gone, because _fire_ and _ow_ , that definitely removed some hair from his face – that fire was too close to his face.

And then he remembered that he’s telekinetic; and sends a sudden blast that gets rid of the rest of the ice (and also kind of makes the crack in the window worse – sorry Lenore – but it was already cracked, it was going to have to be fixed anyway).

But windows and telekinesis and ice will have to wait because HG turns around and Annabel is _glowing_. And Annabel is On Fire. And when did this happen?

And suddenly the “literal human sunshine” phrase Lenore had introduced her with makes more sense – but HG had assumed Lenore was using ‘literal’ in the common ‘figurative’ sense (in that Annabel was a very nice and sunny person) not in the actual ‘literal’ sense (in that Annabel is, yes, very nice, but also able to set herself and other things on fire. Like the sun.)

 

It’s terrifying and it’s also kind of really awesome at the same time.

The “fight” lasts maybe two minutes from that point.

Annabel ignores both Lenore and Edgar, and storms out to the street, all righteous anger and (yes) literal fire.

And what hope did ice (especially ice from what looks like a seventeen year old kid) ever have against the burning fury of the sun.

 

None.

That’s how much hope ice had, from the moment he broke the shop window.

 

Lenore tried to materialise a house when she was a teenager and put herself in the hospital; Edgar tried to organise an animal revolution when he was a teenager, but quickly realised that while he could talk to animals, he couldn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do, and they didn’t want to revolt; HG tried to use telekinesis on himself so as to fly when he was a teenager, and ended up breaking both his legs, and was stuck on bed rest for far too long. Annabel tried not to use her powers as a teenager.

 

And this kid tried to take over the world, or take over the city, or terrorise this one street, when he was a teenager. Because teenagers are stupid, and don’t make the most rational decisions, and sometimes taking over the world seems like a good idea at the time.

 

(It’s never a good idea to take over the world. The easy bit is taking over the world, but then you’ve got to run it. And then there’s no time for anything else, just because you thought taking over the world would be fun.)

 

The _actual_ superheroes turn up about three minutes after the boy is turned into a soaking wet random kid in the middle of the street.

They smile, they greet the people now starting to come out onto the streets, they say something hopeful and utterly meaningless, and then they leave with the ice villain wannabe in tow.

Being a superhero actually seems pretty boring when you put it that way.

 

There’s a sound from behind him, and HG turns to see Lenore spraying Annabel down with a fire extinguisher (she’s never been as good at putting her own fire out as she is at putting other people’s fires out. That probably means something, but right now it means she gets covered head to toe in white foam while her best friend tries not to laugh at the sight.).

Right – the fire thing. That’s still a thing.

 

The next little bit of time passes in somewhat of a blur. There are hot drinks all around – one tea (a proper one), one hot chocolate (a proper one), one regular coffee and one coffee strong enough to kill a standard human.

Lenore takes charge (it’s her shop just as much as Edgar’s, and he seems pretty useless at the moment, if the ever-growing number of small mammals surrounding him is any indication), and somehow HG gets roped into helping out (he should have escaped sooner).

(He’s kind of glad he didn’t)

Edgar’s arguing with a cat (don’t focus on it, just ignore it, Lenore advises him), and Annabel is proving that she actually is literal human sunshine in the common figurative sense, as well as in the literally literal sense HG’s just discovered.

 

And maybe it’s a good thing these people are not superheroes.

These people were never meant to be superheroes.

And that’s perfectly fine by them.

 


End file.
